


the very spirit of summer breathes to-day

by atheoryon



Series: Mandatory Fun [6]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Gay Pride, M/M, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 05:22:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19125442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atheoryon/pseuds/atheoryon
Summary: There was the most notorious assassin of the twentieth century, looking as carefree and full of love and happiness as Clint had ever seen him; the sun making his sun glow golden; his hair done half up, a fucking butterfly clip in it he’d gotten from a tiny, tiny five year old and his two moms; the metal arm filled with various colorful stickers that he just kept adding to, and a bright rainbow star, proud on display.or; clint has a lot of feelings and an acrobatic heart





	the very spirit of summer breathes to-day

**Author's Note:**

> this is just tooth-rotting fluff with a lot of rainbows all around, reallly
> 
> for the mandatoryfunday prompt: pride
> 
> title from 'a june day' by john todhunter, because if i don't name my fics after song titles it's poetry, apparently

 

June came with the blink of an eye, suddenly it was summer and the days were long and the poor punk kids on the subway looked about three seconds away from combusting with how hot they had to be, with their heavy leather jackets and black trousers.

 

He blinked and suddenly the sun was beating down onto his shoulders, instead of the icy New York City wind cutting through his clothes. His skin became dotted with freckles, sun-made constellations scattered across the bridge of his nose, the slope of his shoulders.

 

He blinked, and suddenly Stark’s sunglasses weren’t ridiculous anymore but actually served a purpose.

 

He blinked, and suddenly the city was alive with rainbow colors, proud and vibrant and happy.

 

Much as Clint loved the big rainbows and people who felt safe enough to walk around with flags draped around them as capes, or their hair dyed to represent themselves, it didn’t hit him until he was on his regular subway ride back from SHIELD to Bed-Stuy, once again across from the punks. This time they had a new kid with them. He immediately zoomed in on the new one, the new variable across from him.

 

The kid looked just about like the polar opposite from the ones around her. More like a feminine teenage Steve Rogers, with khakis and a button-up, rather than like the kids decked out in black and studs around her. However, she didn’t look like she felt out of place, a small smile playing on her lips, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

 

Clint continued scanning, until his eyes fell on a small pin on her backpack. A little flag, decked out in the very familiar blue-pink-white stripes Tony had had up around the tower for a month when the Spider-Kid came out and -

 

Oh.

 

Pristine kid, ready to be on the cover for some rich private school flyer, started hanging out with the outcasts all of a sudden, add to that the little flag, not too hard to guess the nice and rich friends didn’t take too kindly to someone not adhering to the norm.

 

The kid’s smile did become more genuine and when Clint reached his stop, he was almost tempted to tell them something profound and cheesy, but y’know, Stranger Danger, and then he tripped over his own feet when he had to get up and. Yeah.

 

When he got home, Kate was there, buried under Lucky, _Dog Cops_ playing on the shitty TV, snoring lightly and looking entirely at ease. He quietly - because he could, damn it, be stealthy, he was a fucking spy - snuck into the kitchen, getting the coffee going.

 

He’d been aware it was June, kind of, and he was very much aware that meant it was Pride Month, c’mon, he lived with Tony ‘fuck any press who thinks I left my bisexual phase in the 90s’ Stark, but it was so different seeing it like a scared fucking kid with a pin on the subway, rather than Tony lighting up the entire fucking tower, changing the colors on Cap’s shield and generally giving his poor PR manager several heart attacks by trying to round a few bases too many during post-mission interviews with Steve, who always looked like a blushing virgin, but wasn't really fooling anyone when he pulled Tony back for a last kiss.

 

Tony always acted like that was 95% of the reason he did it, but he had admitted, once, it was mostly for the closeted kids, scared at home, showing them that you could still be a superhero.

 

And to piss off FOX News, that too.

 

So yeah. Pride Month, bit difficult to miss, it just… hadn’t really hit him until today. He let his mind wander back, to summers in Iowa, fumbling around with one of the other boys who helped with the carnival, a boy who didn’t look at him again when he actually came to the carnival with his friends.

 

The past few years with the Avengers, they always went to the Pride March, either decked out in costume or in civvies.

 

This year though, they had one not-really-but-also-kind-of Winter Soldier to facilitate. Right on cue, his phone vibrated, with a message from Natasha. She’d sent a picture Bucky’s metal arm, still covered in various stickers courtesy of the Spider-Kid, featuring Hello Kitty and lots of Disney characters. However, what caught his eye was the red star on his shoulder. Or, it was red, but was now the colors of a very familiar rainbow pattern.

 

_Figured you’d be interested to see this_

 

Clint almost dropped the pot of coffee he’d just grabbed, the message added almost as an afterthought, and he spluttered indignantly for a few seconds before sending back a rather rude emoji, which of course led to Natasha sending him a kissy emoji.

 

He very sternly reminded himself, for the however-manieth time never confide in Natasha about his crushes again.

 

A doomed from the start kind of reminder, but still. Sometimes they all liked to pretend they had a chance against Natasha setting her mind to knowing something.

  


It wasn’t until three days before the actual Pride March itself that he was actually confronted with the very reality of Bucky Barnes joining in on the whole Pride extravaganza. Yes, he was confronted with his crush pretty much on the daily, especially because Bucky had, in a very weird fuck you to Hydra, decided that he now made his own choices, which he of course did, but which manifested in an unfortunate way. Bucky had, for some reason unbeknownst to Clint but for which he praised and cursed whatever God there might be, decided that he was above wearing pants, and just walked around in an oversized hoodie, which went down to just above his knees. Presumably he was wearing underwear, but Clint didn’t really try to think about that too much unless he was caught in a moment of weakness in the shower.

 

So yeah. Bucky made his own choices, so proud and happy, but for the first time in his life and immediately accompanied with a boat load of guilt, Clint wished Bucky was not ready to cope with something as people-filled as the march.

 

Steve had, in his adorable embarrassing dad-like way tried to break the subject of what Pride actually entailed, at the dinner table, with the entire team present. He’d stuttered through three sentences of modern sensibilities, the sexual and naked part of Pride, before Bucky had interrupted him with a tired: “I know what’s goin’ on at Pride, Stevie. Hot men in tiny shorts are kind of the reason I’m there, and I plan on fittin’ in proper.”

 

Steve had choked on nothing, Tony had let out a delighted laugh, Natasha raised a pointed eyebrow in his direction and Clint had burned hotter than Pepper doused with Extremis.

 

Bucky.

 

In booty shorts.

 

Clint was going to die, it was official.

 

Maybe he’d be able to bribe Natasha into putting ‘crushed to death’ on his tombstone, as a way of making sure it’d sound like he’d died in a battle instead of by the mere thought of Bucky in booty shorts.

 

Before Steve could go any further entertaining the team and embarrassing himself, Bucky pat him on the head, then sat down next to Natasha on the couch, crossed his legs underneath him and asked how she and Maria were doing.

 

Steve was patting his own head with a bewildered look on his face, Tony was flicking his eyes between Bucky and Clint with a calculating look that couldn’t mean anything good and Bruce just took another sip of his tea and flipped the page of the science journal he was reading.

  


So Bucky hadn’t lied.

 

When Clint got to the rest of the team, decked out in various colors and costumes, Bucky really was stood to the side in a pair of booty shorts and a sheer black shirt. A pair of booty shorts in a bright shade of purple. Clint was wearing a pair of cut-off denim shorts, but he knew his thighs were nothing like Bucky’s, which looked like  they’d been lovingly sculpted by an ancient Greek sculptor who’d had a run in with Apollo.

 

Clint could barely notice what the rest of the team was wearing, and spent most of the march itself in a sort of weird haze. He was still aware of where he was, the happy feeling of community and love and _life_ he was surrounded by, he happily took pictures with people who recognised him, wolf-whistled at the occasional person walking by when they made clear they were there to attract attention.

 

His mind, however, was firmly fixed on Bucky, walking a few feet in front of him, happy-go-lucky like every other Brooklyn hipster instead of a guy who’d lived through more horrors than anyone could count. Clint knew he was in too deep when Bucky turned around and flashed him a happy full-face laugh, eyes wrinkling, nose scrunched and too many teeth. Obviously he could appreciate the view of broad shoulders in a see-through shirt, Bucky’s ass in those booty shorts and those _thighs_ , he was deaf, not blind, but that smile made his heart do several somersaults and a bit of trapeze jumping to top it all off.

 

He was so fucked.

 

There was the most notorious assassin of the twentieth century, looking as carefree and full of love and happiness as Clint had ever seen him; the sun making his sun glow golden; his hair done half up, a fucking butterfly clip in it he’d gotten from a tiny, _tiny_ five year old and his two moms; the metal arm filled with various colorful stickers that he just kept adding to, and a bright rainbow star, proud on display.

 

So, _so_ fucked.

 

Over their heads, Tony came flying by, covering everyone in glitter coming from his repulsors, Steve clinging onto him like a damsel in distress. It wasn’t long until a reporter came up next to them, zeroing in on Bucky. As soon as Clint saw that bright smile dropping, he jogged up next to him, slung an arm around him, steadily ignored the way his heart was making overtime at the warm skin under his fingers, and poked Bucky’s cheek.

 

That made Bucky look at him, eyes bright, and Clint felt his heart prepare for another round of acrobatics with how close their faces were, felt his answering smile rather than consciously doing so, and was aware of how ridiculous they must look, the best marksman of the twenty-first century poking the Winter Soldier’s cheek, smiling like lunatics. They did actually talk to the reporter, though Clint doubted she could use any of the material.

 

When she turned away to interview someone else, Bucky didn’t move away from him, so Clint kept his arm around Bucky’s shoulders, indulging for once in his heart’s return to his circus days.

 

Clint was finally able to tear his eyes away from Bucky, looking around at all the love around him, feeling his heart balance on the beam after landing a jump, feeling Bucky’s solid body under his arm, grounded in the here-and-now, not feeling the need to escape or scoop the area for threats, content to just be there, let the sun wash over him and secretly enjoy his heart’s tumbles with Bucky so close to him.

  


So caught up in his surroundings, Clint startled slightly when Bucky who poked him in the cheek. He whipped around to Bucky, who, not missing a beat, pressed his lips to his cheek, where his finger had just been. Bucky didn’t lean all the way back, just kept close to him, eyes searching his face for something Clint wasn’t sure of. He wasn’t even sure what was showing on his face, just that his heart felt like it was ready to challenge Epke Zonderland at a world championship and that Bucky’s lips felt so soft, he might commit a murder to get to kiss him.

 

Apparently that had translated onto his face, as Bucky took his face in both his hands and slowly leaned back in, eyes only closing at the last possible moment. It took Clint a few seconds for his brain to get over the _buckysoftwarm_ feeling, but then he caught up and started responding, sliding his hands in Bucky’s hair which was just as soft as it looked. He was dimly aware of the people surrounding him and undoubtedly a few reporters taking pictures of the two Avengers making out in broad daylight. None of it mattered when Bucky made a small noise in the back of his throat and pulled Clint closer to him.

 

His heart did only last somersault but then just felt… settled and calm.

**Author's Note:**

> kudos/comments don't make the world go 'round but they do make me happy, make of that what you will
> 
> [my tumblr](http://www.atheoryon.tumblr.com)


End file.
